The Secrets of the Dreamer
by Sara Joanne
Summary: Opal has always had a gift. A gift that she has never told anyone about. A gift that will change her life. And cause her to lose it. Doctor Who Fan Fiction revolving around an OC, Opal. Romance will ensue. Rating may change as the action begins.
1. Prologue

My name is Opal Jeannette Woodward. I'm eighteen years old and I was born and raised in New York City, just a short walk from Time Square. I had known the lights of The Great White Way from the moment I was born and I could never imagine anything better, or more exciting than the stage. At least not until now. Not until I met one man with the capacity to change my life forever.

Had I been able to see this coming, I still wouldn't have changed a thing about it. I never would have known the possibilities that the universe held. I never would have met the man who showed me that it's ok to love without guilt.

I would also never have died.

I've always been a dreamer. I usually have my head in the clouds and my thoughts on some distant planet somewhere.

"Opal! Stop daydreaming." my math teacher would always say "It's no use dreaming if you won't even be able to balance a checkbook."

All day I would hear people shouting, "Opal, come back to the real world." or, "keep your feet on the ground and your head in the game." The only person who ever supported my dreaming was my Gramma. And she died a year before I left.

I was torn up for months. Even now I still start crying when I think about the way she would sit with me in the shade of the tree in the garden behind her old victorian house, in the grass with our legs stretched out in front of us, leaning our heads back against the rough bark. She would put her arm around my shoulders, and she would say to me "Opal Jeanette, you can do whatever the hell you set your mind to. Your dreams will take you to Broadway, or Hollywood, or to the moon. So you keep that head of yours where you want it, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"

Until now I never really knew all the power that a dreamer could have.

My day had began as normal as any other. I woke up and walked down to a cafe to get coffee and a muffin for breakfast. I didn't even see him standing there, watching me from over his newspaper.

I should have noticed him then, I should have known that his pin-striped suit and long brown coat were out of place here. I should have noticed that the newspaper he was reading was from '69. Even his english accent was unusual for New York. I should have known when I walked into my literature class, that it was no coincidence, and that he wasn't a normal substitute teacher. The way he babbled on about Charles Dickens and spirits that entered dead bodies, or about Shakespeare trapping witches with just his words. The most sense he made was when he told us about Agatha Christie solving a mystery, then he added something about a giant wasp. Maybe I should have faked sick and gone home, and just kept myself out of the way. If only I had known. If only I could have seen it coming.

I would have been more prepared. I would have been ready for it.

I would still be alive, and with him.


	2. Chapter One

"Good morning class. I'm Mr. Smith and I'm going to be your teacher for the next couple of weeks since your teacher Miss Patterson won the lottery and decided to go on holiday. Sooooooo, let's get down to business, from what the sub plans say I can see that on friday you finished reading Hamlet, and...ah, could anyone tell me what year it is?"

I heard the snickers and whispers from around me and I looked up from my book and found his dark brown eyes looking over at me with what almost seemed like an air of mischief.

"It's 2013" I answered as I looked at him quizzically, trying to figure out what could be going on.

"Thank you. While I'm here, class, you'll all have to stay on your toes." He winked at me before turning on one foot, the tails of his ankle length trench coat flying out and hitting the desk next to him.

"I was told that you were going to watch the Mel Gibson version from 1990 but I much prefer the film by the Royal Shakespeare Company from 2009." He reached into his coat pocket and rifled around for a minute while he murmured to himself about cleaning out his pockets before pulling out a DVD.

"Here it is! It's my favorite!" He grinned ear to ear and let out a little half giggle before he popped the DVD into the computer's disc drive.

Something about the way he acted just made me smile, I couldn't really explain it. It wasn't quite the same for anyone else though, most of the students just rolled their eyes and acted like they were above being at school at all, a few of the girls in the first and second rows giggled and whispered to each other, no doubt telling each other what celebrity they thought he looked like, or pointing out the way he smiled or cocked his eyebrows.

He was rather attractive, in that "ageless-substitute-english-teacher" way. But I wasn't one to let something like a good looking man distract me from analysing a Shakespearean performance.

Class passed by as it normally would have, with the exception of "Mr. Smith" occasionally pausing the film to add his input. (Which could sometimes take awhile because he would often start making up stories about knowing Shakespeare and such.) In the ninety minute class period we only spent about thirty of them actually watching Hamlet, but I didn't mind so much because of the personality he had about him, like he was eighteen and eighty at the same time. I couldn't lay a finger on it, but it was something.

I had packed up my notebooks and was about to head out the door of the classroom when our mystery sub stopped me.

"Opal J. Woodward, I hope you made a good analysis of what you saw today. May help you someday."

"How did….."

He held up a folder with a class list "Your teacher left me some notes. She said if any of the other students had trouble to send them to you, that you love Shakespeare and theatre and you want to be on Broadway. Brilliant ambition."

"Thanks, most people just say I'm wasting my time, that I could never make a career of it."

"Nonsense! You'll be brilliant. Imagine if someone told Shakespeare he wouldn't make a career of theatre. Then where'd the world be. And let me tell you, I've met Shakespeare, he wouldn't of listened to it." He smiled and cocked his head to the right before turning and walking back to the desk.

"Until tomorrow, Opal Jeanette, I bid thee adieu."

I turned and walked backwards for the last few steps out the door so I could look at him.

"See ya tomorrow Mr. Smith." I smiled as I left for the day.


	3. Chapter Two

I was sitting at my dark purple desk in my bedroom, putting the finishing touches on a presentation that I was supposed to be giving tomorrow in my world history class. It was about five o'clock and I had just as I finished up the last slide on a powerpoint about the French Revolution I heard the faint tones of the title song from _The Phantom of the Opera, _letting me know that someone was trying to communicate with me via cell phone.

"Hello" I answered after checking the contact number.

"Hey Opal!" It was my best friend Theresa, no doubt calling to see if I could hang out so we could discuss the new substitute teacher.

"Hey Resa. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to see if you could go get coffee. Can you?" I faked contemplation before I gave the answer that we both knew was coming.

"Well, I suppose since I just finished this, oh so exciting powerpoint on the French Revolution, I can meet you there in ten minutes. The usual?" I asked, reffering to the cafe where we spent most of our free time, as well as where I usually got breakfast.

"Where else would we go? Now's no time to go expanding our circles."

"Good point." I let out a short laugh. "Alright, I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Hurry, we have important matters to discuss."

I laughed as I pressed the end button on my phone and grabbed my purse and jacket before leaving a note to tell my parents where I was and that I'd be home by eight. I left the house and walked the three blocks from my apartment to the cafe where we were meeting. When I got there Theresa was already waiting for me at our usual table, drinking an iced caramel latte with extra whipped cream and writing in one of the many notebooks that she carried with her. I waved at her before quickly going up to the counter and ordering a blended hot chocolate and sliding into the chair across from her.

"Hey." I said, she looked up from the story she was writing, she held up her index finger to signal that she was "In the Zone" and needed a moment to finish what she was writing. I sipped my frozen hot chocolate, which was really just a weird way of saying chocolate milkshake, and looked at one of the musical posters that was on the wall.

Resa plunked her pen down on the page of her notebook to signify the end of her writing streak.

"So?" She asked as she looked at me intently, leaning forward

"So what?" I asked her, smiling. I already knew what, but I wanted to play dumb for a while.

"So, what did you think of that new substitute for English class?" I could tell she was excited. I wasn't sure why though, it wasn't anything too unusual.

"He's English." I said, making a small play on words. I leaned against the back of my chair and crossed my arms, smiling.

"Oh, that's not what I mean! Wasn't he cute!" I hadn't noticed the man at the booth near us until just then, when he fractionally lowered the newspaper he had been reading. I saw the recognizable brown, spiky hair, and then the deep brown eyes with a mischievous twinkle. He winked at me and set his newspaper down, doing a motion telling me to keep going.

"Eh." I shrugged my shoulders and went back to sipping my drink.

What do you mean, eh?!" She seemed genuinely shocked. "You're the one who has a thing for tall, lanky Englishmen. Like that one Benjamin guy."

"Benedict!" I snapped "Benedict Cumberbatch! And Mr. Smith looks nothing like him."

"But still! Did you see that hair, and those eyes, and that smile" She leaned forward a little, "Did you see his butt!?"

Mr. Smith turned his head to look at his rear and he sort of cocked his eyebrow and nodded his head a little. It made me giggle and Resa turned around to see what I was laughing at. Her face turned the color of a tomato. And not just a normal tomato, it was the red of a tomato that was over ripe and had been sitting on a table for a few days.

"Oh Hey." She said, trying to hide her embarrassment. "We were just talking about you."

"So I heard." He smiled and cocked his head to the side.

"How much did you hear?" She slid down in her seat a little and looked down at her closed notebook on the light colored wood of the table.

"Oh, not much." He said and winked at me discreetly.

"Do you wanna sit down." I asked him as I motioned to a chair from a table just a foot or so away. "Pull up a seat." He went to grab the chair but before he could Resa started picking up her things.

"Actually. you can have my seat. I need to get home anyways. It was nice to see you Mr. Smith. Opal, I'll talk to you later." and with that she hurried out of the cafe, walking with her head down like she usually did.

I smacked his hand after he sat down at the table.

"She's mortified. She'll never be able to speak to you again without turning red. Or at very least a dark shade of pink." He smiled.

"Oh, she'll be fine." He leaned back in the vinyl covered chair, bringing the front legs off the floor. "Theresa Bonham. She'll go places. Best selling author by 25, Pulitzer prize by the time she's thirty."

I giggled and he looked at me with his left eyebrow crooked.

"She's definitely a talented writer, if that's what you're saying." He winked dramatically.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." He smiled at me and pushed his chair out from the table. " I better be off." He looked me in the eye and said "Whatever you do, do not follow me." He smiled and turned to leave, his coat tails fluttering behind him.

His last remark left me in a state of shock, confusion, and frustration. The way he grinned plafully made it seem like he wanted for me to follow him, yet it almost seemed like a trap.

I mean, sure he was a teacher, and he seemed respectable, but how could I tell that from having been around him a total of two hours. And what would happen if I did follow him? Would he get angry because I followed him? Would he try to hurt me? Would he try to seduce me? I couldn't be certain. But still that little voice in my head was telling me to follow him. And despite my gut instinct, I did.

I'm not sure how I stayed on his trail in the crowded streets, but somehow I did. I dodged people and ducked in and out of the throng, always keeping Mr. Smith's camel colored coat in sight. As I followed him I tried to keep close to people so that I could hide in the crowd if he ever turned around. Despite my efforts, I got cut off from him when a red light turned to green and a stream of cars flooded the street, making it impossible for me to cross. So, I watched. I watched as Mr. Smith turned into an alley.

"That's odd." I muttered under my breath. "What could he be doing there?" The light turned back to red, halting the cars on the street as I dashed in front of them. I stopped at the corner of the building just before the alley and stood there for a minute contemplating. After catching my breathe for a moment, I stole a glance the alley. It was a dead end. No doors he could have gone into, just a few garbage cans, and in the corner of the building and the tall wood fence, a blue box.

I walked up to it and looked at the doors.

"I've never seen this here before." I said under my breathe.

I walked up to the deep blue door and reached out cautiously to touch it when I heard footsteps getting closer to the door. They seemed far away, but I knew it had to be close because of the size of the box. I darted around during the side off the box and squeezed into the small space between the fence and the blue painted wood. After a few more seconds I heard the door creak open. I heard Mr. Smith say loudly that he thought he heard someone. The door creaked on it's hinges as it slammed shut.

A few seconds later I heard a grinding sound and a whirring noise. The box faded slowly in and out of sight before it vanished all together leaving me standing backed against the wood of the fence, perplexed.

"But, that's impossible." I whispered before stepping away from the fence and Looking up to the sky as the sun began to set. "That's just impossible." Though something in my heart told me it wasn't.


End file.
